User blog comment:Bluestripe the Wild/Rise of the Mercenaries Reboot/@comment-3135907-20160425054212

Into the East they went, cross woodland and quiet streams toward the camp of Flennt the Stoat. Hours passed by, locked head-to-head in the unending marathon of time. Vil the fox mercenary panted doggedly as he reached the first of the southern tributary streams of the River Moss ahead of the others, beside which ran the roots of a great and ancient oak. The fox knelt down on all fours and blissfully allowed himself to lap up the cool water, clearing his dizzied mind of thirst and fatigue.

He pondered the situation as he waited for the others, his narrowed eyes roving about his new surroundings. The flatlands had been harsh, but at least a beast could see a hundred feet in any direction and know what was there and what wasn't. Here, in the deep of the forest, one traded crippling heat and a sense of security for cool shadows and a wealth of uncertainty.

There were merits to both, but nothing is without its cons.